When we got to school we were greeted by Michael. His face was plastered with a stupid grin. Michael smirked as we passed him, his gaze lingering on Nova like she was property. “See you later, sweetheart,” he drawled, but Nova flipped him off without breaking stride. School was a blur of avoidance maneuvers. I stuck to Nova like glue, dodging the usual spots where the boys hung out, the locker bay where Thorne flirted with everyone, the quad bench Draven claimed for “strategic observation.” Ronan didn’t go to school; he was older, already handling pack duties full-time, training recruits and patrolling borders. But his absence didn’t stop the texts from piling up on my phone: Thorne’s cheeky emojis, Ronan’s concerned “You okay?”, Draven’s straightforward “Talk to us.” “Why are you ghosting them?” Nova whispered during history class, passing a note under the desk. We’d claimed seats in the back, away from the pack kids who shot us curious glances. I scribbled back: “Mom’s w
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